


AGAIN.

by haxxorbitch, zoophobic



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-10 22:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12309504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haxxorbitch/pseuds/haxxorbitch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoophobic/pseuds/zoophobic
Summary: alternatively titled, no one ever really gets awayit comes to the four of them in different ways, cryptic and daunting, but it comes nonetheless. it comes and it happens, again.





	1. attention all pickpockets

Alex Kralie was and is not sure what the message post-it note stuck to his door means. He holds it now, sitting on the train, examining it over and over. It says ‘again’, and it gives him coordinates and a date. 10.15.20:00. October fifteenth, eight pm. He had entered them before getting on this train, and they gave him a cabin on an empty plot of land, five or six hours away from where he lives. The ink is smudged and quickly scrawled.

 

Normally, he would not follow a random note on his door. Even though it was over (he doesn’t want to think about it; his hands shake terribly and time stops moving linearly), he is still paranoid. He is still scared. The camera still films him every night, and every morning he spends an hour milling over the five-hour long tapes, sped up, making sure nothing has gone awry. He has been ok for those three years. Nothing has come for him. He refuses to think about it in full, but it is a quiet fear festering in the back of his mind.

 

This, however, is not a normal circumstance. He recognizes the handwriting. He doesn’t quite know how, or why, but he knows it's familiar, and the nagging curiosity that he’s afraid will kill him has been situated in his mind since he came home to the note four days ago, carrying his instant coffee. He’d run out. He’d went downstairs, he’d crossed the street. It’d taken him five minutes. 

 

So, he got drove to the station, watched his car be loaded into one of the longer compartments - this was made for long distance, after all - and got on the train this morning, after he went over his tapes, with his small army backpack holding his camera, some money, food, a notebook, a pen, and a flashlight - he could never be too safe - slung over his shoulder. He’s been going west for a bit over an hour. 

 

The train makes a stop for more passengers. He gets up to go to the front of it, where they sell hot food and more importantly, hot coffee. He hasn’t slept well these past few nights. Passengers filter in behind him through a set of doors. A few divert over to the booth. Someone stumbles into him in the line. The army backpack hits the ground. Normally, he’d be afraid for his camera - immediately checking it had not broken - but he is afraid of the figure which is before him. Time stops. His hands start shaking.

 

“Jay?”

 

One Jay Merrick looks up, cap held loosely in one hand while the other freezes in his hair. There’s a camera bag slung over one shoulder, on top of a messenger bag, because apparently one bag isn’t enough for him. He meets Alex’s gaze, just for a second, before he looks away, towards the car behind Alex.

 

Wordlessly, Jay steps back, slips the cap back over his hair with clear determination to not meet Alex’s eyes. “Alex,” he murmurs, quietly enough that Alex can barely hear him over the slight roaring noise that’s building in his ears. Jay pops a knuckle, easy, and makes an attempt to slip by Alex without actually acknowledging him again.

 

Alex isn’t really sure what compels him to reach for Jay’s wrist, but he does. He does, and Jay finally looks back at him, jaw tense.

 

“What?” Jay says, still quiet, his free hand tapping at the top of the camera bag the way someone might tap at a desk.

 

“You got it too, didn’t you?”

 

Jay opens his mouth, closes it, visibly chews at his lower lip for a moment. “Got what, Alex?” Jay asks without meeting Alex’s eyes.

 

Alex lets go of his wrist. “Don’t play dumb,” he says, and Jay pops another knuckle, refuses to look at him. “The note.” He sees Jay fidget, and then someone pushes through the space between the two of them, and when they’ve cleared, Jay has taken out his phone and is tapping at something. Alex wonders if he’s texting someone to come pick him up at the next stop, wonders if Jay’s that desperate to get out of here, wonders if--

 

Jay shoves the phone into Alex’s still-shaking hand, averts his gaze when Alex tries to meet it.

 

There’s a text on the lit screen, a text from some unknown number that reads exactly like the note: ‘AGAIN’, all caps this time the coordinates and time typed underneath, . Jay had replied, a few times, by the looks of it. ‘who the fuck are you???’, the first one read, and then, ‘this isnt fucking funny’, followed by, ‘im blocking htis number if you dont say’, and finally, ‘please’. 

 

Alex is silent. He shoves the phone back into Jay’s hands now, with the same intensity he had received it, as if it is white hot. It  _ is _ white hot to him. Time starts moving again for a second as he picks up both the army backpack and Jay’s wrist.

 

He is still wordless as he walks, despite Jay’s vocal confusion. He keeps walking until they find an empty section, a small reprieve from the train’s business. The sound that the car door makes when he shuts it behind them prompts him to let go of Jay’s wrist the second time.

 

He places the backpack down on a seat, then rummages through his hoodie pockets until he finally finds the halfway crumpled sticky note. He unfolds it and holds it straight out, facing Jay. The note feels like it’s burning his hand now that he knows it’s got something to do with this.

 

Time feels fake, in that car. Sound does not reach the two as the train chugs quietly on the tracks. There is nothing in that instant but Jay and Alex and the note. His hands tremble so badly. His whole body trembles. He’s sure Jay can see him shaking. 

 

“It’s the same thing,” he murmurs. “It’s the same fucking thing, Jay.”

 

Jay doesn’t answer.

 

“Jay?” This time he looks up, but it’s not at Alex -- he’s staring past him, eyes unfocused.

 

Alex gives up. This is a lot for him, too. He’s not sure if he can do this again. They sit like that as the train chugs on.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Brian Thomas is by no means an urban explorer. He’s a teacher for high school psychology. He’s the youngest teacher there, actually. He likes teaching. He’s comfortable talking to the classes, and he’s not much older than them either. So, the kids like him, and he likes the kids.

 

But he doesn’t shy away from the odd abandoned building, or rusted sawmill. It’s always fun to take pictures. He’s always sent them to a childhood friend. The friend in question doesn’t reply that much. It makes Brian kind of sad. He understands, though. Who would want to go back to that time?

He still misses his friends.

 

So, when he got an email sent to his personal account, instead of his school one, from an anonymous sender, he swore to god he recognized that combination of numbers. It was his locker combination back in high school, one year, he thinks? Regardless. The title was ‘QUdBSU4u’ - he knew it was Base64 immediately, but had to check the actual translation. (It was simply ‘AGAIN.’, how strange!) It had coordinates, and a date and a time. 

 

Punching in the coordinates revealed something peculiar - a shoddy cabin in a plot of empty land. He’d have to drive through a bit of trees, but further inspection revealed a driveway leading to the plot of land. Curiously enough, though, it only went to the plot of land - not the cabin itself.

 

Well, it was only an hour’s drive away! He’s sure his friend will like the pictures he takes there. He always did have a fondness for abandoned things.

 

 

Brian arrives at seven-thirty pm. The sun is already starting to set beneath the sky, and it had dappled the road with gorgeous lighting. The drive was relatively quiet. He’d put his own personal CD into the disc slot to fill the silence, and the sounds of lo-fi accentuated the drive in a nice way. He chuckled slightly. His other friend would love this. It’d make a good transition shot.

 

The weird thing, though, is his car isn’t the only one there. Oh! Maybe this was some kind of party! He should have brought his beer. He always brought the beer back in high school, this was probably some kind of reunion, damn! It made sense, too, with the locker combination thing. Dummy.

 

He parks his car and steps out onto the grass. He walks over to the other car, looking for some indicator, and something odd pulls in his mind. He’s tired, but as he comes closer and closer, he realizes he knows this car. 

 

It’s Tim’s car! A great big smile crosses his face. Tim hasn’t wanted to talk to him in full since...well. And Brian doesn’t blame him, he understands totally, but oh man it’s Tim’s car and Tim is the only guy who really knew his locker combo by heart because sometimes he’d forget and Tim would have to remind him of course it’s Tim! 

 

He sprints from Tim’s car to the cabin still smiling, his DSLR bag bouncing against his hip. The porch makes a unfortunate sound as he takes the four steps (two at a time, like he always does, no matter how steep the stairs are) but he doesn’t care. He’s gonna see his friend! Maybe their other friends are here too - Seth and Sarah and Amy and Jessica! 

 

He takes a second to recompose himself, toning down his grin to just a slight smile, and knocks on the door. “Hello?” He calls out as the wood creaks beneath his fist.

 

There’s the sound of creaking from inside the cabin; someone moving towards the door, maybe? The door opens, and there he is -- face unshaven, hair long and mussed enough to create an almost feral look, tired eyes.

 

Brian frowns. “You okay?”

 

Tim Wright, more than anything else, looks surprised. He ignores the question, answers it with a, “What are you doing here?”

Brian chuckles. “Oh, dude, I didn’t know you were a jokes man now too!” He wraps his arms around Tim in a tight hug. “It’s good to see you, Timocracy!” He pulls away from the aforementioned hug to look his worn down friend in his eyes. “Did you know that’s an actual form of government? I learned that in Civics because I had a spare and decided to watch one of the other teachers teach! I told you I’m a teacher now, right? Anyway, Timocracy is a form of government-”

 

“Where you have to have property to be in office, Brian. We took civics, too. We were in the same class. You said it then too.”

 

“Oh. Well, I forgot that I did.”

 

“What are you doing here?” Tim repeats, a bit more insistent this time.

 

“Got an e-mail from you,” Brian answers this time, says it in that  _ duh  _ kind of way where it’s clear Tim should know what he’s talking about. “Y’know, the Base64 was a nice touch, but you could’ve just called me if you wanted to hang out,” he says pointedly, looks from Tim to the room behind him. “Can I come in or--”

 

“I didn’t send you an e-mail,” Tim interrupts, steps forward onto the porch to close the door behind him.

 

There’s some level of anxiety working its way into Brian’s stomach, but he pushes it back down, forces another smile. “You don’t have to deny it, dude! Like I said, you could’ve just called me, but the e-mail was fine, too.”

 

“I didn’t send you an e-mail, Brian,” Tim repeats, impatience and something Brian can’t quite figure out entering his voice. “What are you talking about?”

 

Brian offers him a very nervous chuckle, but fishes into his pocket for his phone. “If you really don’t remember, I’ll show you,” he explains neatly, turns it on to search for the e-mail. Once he’s found it amongst the mess of unread e-mails he clicks it, turns it around to show Tim.

 

Tim takes the phone and reads it, eyes darting across the screen once, twice, thrice before he hands it back over. He’s shaking his head, stepping back so his back’s against the door, crossing his arms. “I didn’t send you that.”

 

Brian chuckles again, uncomfortably aware of how much more nervous this sounds. He’d been certain Tim was joking, but then Tim had never been much of a jokester in any way but sarcastic comments and dark remarks. This doesn’t really seem like his way of joking. Still, what else could it possibly be? “Who would’ve sent it, then?”

 

“I- I don’t know, but it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

 

“Tim…” Brian starts, and his voice cracks. Tim and him hold an uncomfortable look as he hears a car rolling up the driveway, just barely. He hears the car across the grass, and he hears it stop suddenly. He hears the doors open. He hears a familiar voice mutter ‘you’ve got to be fucking kidding me’. His heart drops. The car makes an all too familiar beep behind him as it locks. Tim is looking over his shoulder. Oh Jesus Christ. He turns around slowly.

 

Jay and Alex stand there, just feet away from the porch.

 

“Again.” Alex mutters softly.

 

Brian has felt a lot of bad feelings in his life. A lot of them were three years ago. The worst anxiety and horror in his life happened three years ago. He’d been fucked up to such an extent that despite his cheery demeanour he couldn’t help but break almost every night. And that single word suddenly clicked into place, with the most terrible feeling of dread cementing it.

 

“Again,” He confirms softly.


	2. i'll write you a postcard

The feeling that has been stewing in Tim Wright’s stomach for the past ten minutes as his old friends sit in uncomfortable silence is less than great. In fact, it’s pretty much fucking terrible. Four days ago,  he’d woken up in the forest, a few yards from his -- well. The house he was squatting in’s yard, but he’d brushed it off as sleepwalking, like Brian had always said he’d done back in high school. 

 

Still, the thought has been itching (clawing, almost) in the back of his mind. What if it wasn’t sleepwalking? This occurrence -- all four of them, together, again -- does nothing to quell that worry. And the fact Brian’s email, Alex’s note, Jay’s texts, were all individually four days old really,  _ really  _ fucking bothers him.

 

He ponders this as he makes coffee for the four of them in the kitchen. Tim figures, naturally, that none of them will sleep anytime soon, but a warm drink always helped him back then. It isn’t back then anymore, is it? 

 

The kettle is battery operated. He is missing a battery, so he pops one in. As he does this, he sees the small box tucked away in the back of the battery drawer. He sighs and grabs it. Just in case.

 

The kettle soon turns off with a pop. He puts in the tablespoon’s worth of instant coffee.. Four steaming mugs sit before him now.. He can’t stop looking at the one on the right. It was Jay’s, back when they tended to motel-hop. They’d stolen it. It was a small refuge, to grab random shit from rooms. He recognizes it by the small chip in the left side (Jay had dropped it in front of the car. He’s not sure how he remembers that specifically, but he does).

 

That one fucking cup makes it settle in more. This is happening again. 

 

He walks out, plate in one hand (he used to wait tables, this is  _ easy  _ to balance, easier than most everything else thus far) and puts it down on the table. He notices Jay grab the old cup. He wonders if Jay recognizes it. 

He also notices, in his quick once over of the room, that there’s now two cameras -- one recording the various old couches where everyone sits, and one recording the outside. He already knows who it’s the work of. His fingers are wrapped around one of the cups that Tim had set down, his knuckles white. 

 

He tosses the box at the vaguely shaking man, and it hits him in the shoulder gently, falling limply to couch beside him. Alex looks at him, and then the box, and then back at him. He lets out a quiet ‘thanks’, without opening said box.

 

“Uh, Tim?” Brian says mildly. 

 

“Y-yeah?” He curses himself for the slight stutter in his voice.

 

“There’s no creamer.”

 

Tim draws in a breath, unintentionally sharp, something he’s almost certain they pick up on. What’s he supposed to do, go out and buy some? “I don’t have any,” he answers in as steady a voice as he can manage.

 

Brian looks as though he’s about to say something but he stops, chews on his words, and takes a sip on the coffee as is. “Alright,” he murmurs as he’s setting it down on the rickety coffee table, nose slightly wrinkled.

 

In fact, three of the four are presently sitting on the table. Alex is holding onto his, the box laying untouched but unforgotten in his lap as he drinks. Jay hasn’t bothered with one, instead having drawn his feet close to him to perch on the couch in that awkward, unsure way Tim had forgotten about. Tim entertains the idea of making some sarcastic remark but can’t summon any words from his mind that don’t feel fabricated.

 

So Tim just sits down in the unoccupied chair, sending up dust as he takes a seat. Fuck, he hasn’t touched this thing since he’d found this place, has he?

 

“So, what now?”

 

The question, posed by Brian, is harmless enough. And relevant enough -- what  _ do  _ they do now? What  _ does  _ happen next? There’s a silence then, though, a kind of uneasy air that’s filled the room in the spaces between them.

 

“Well,” Tim starts, daring to speak first, “I don’t know about you, but I’m just hoping to figure out what’s going on and who exactly sent all of that stuff, and what to do if everything really is starting again-”

 

“It’s not, though.” 

 

The defiant tone is something he’d expect from Alex, or maybe even Brian, but the voice came from someone different entirely. Jay looks up from his odd seating arrangement, meeting Tim’s eyes.

 

“Jay,” Brian starts, and Tim wonders briefly how he could possibly be this calm about this entire thing, but then it occurs to him that Brian has always been an ace at calming people down, and even if things were terrible on his end, he’d make anyone else feel better.

 

“No, Brian, p…” Jay’s voice wavers for a heartbeat, and then he clears his throat and  takes a breath. It doesn’t take Tim’s careful inspection of his face to tell one that he’s about to start crying. “Please just let me talk, ok?” 

 

Brian says nothing, but gives a gentle nod. “I d--” Another breath. “I don’t want to do this again. It’s over. This… there’s no reason for us all to be together. T-those notes were just a p-prank or, or, or something, I don’t know, I don’t  _ know _ .”

 

No one says anything. Jay clearly doesn’t believe himself. He lets out a soft hiccup. “I don’t know.” 

 

Jay Merrick starts crying, and no one really knows what to do.

 

Alex takes another sip of his coffee, avoiding looking at any of them. He just stares down into the dark abyss, as if he’s looking for something more than a reflection in it’s surface. Tim wonders if he’ll find his answers there.

 

Brian gets up, and sits down on the couch Jay had previously been alone on. He gently starts rubbing his back, whispering soft things that Tim can’t make out. It was something he’d done to Tim, calming him down in college when things just got too hard to handle. 

 

Tim himself bites back a ‘get over it’, or some other harsh phrase. Brian’s methods work better than his low growls ever would, and he knows that, so he lets Brian do his own thing and takes a sip of his own coffee, letting it burn his mouth. Alex is looking at him, and he meets his gaze with nothing but a poker face.

 

“I don’t know, it’s…” Jay’s voice comes through a mess of tears. “It can’t be happening, this isn’t real, it’s not real, it’s not happening, it’s over, it was gone, we can just go home and it’ll be done…” He trails off into more wordless tears.

 

And then there’s something that isn’t a sob, isn’t even Jay -- Tim sniffs, sniffs hard, and brings a hand to cup beneath his nose.

 

There’s blood leaking into his cupped palm, a nose bleed Tim hadn’t even realized was coming. He drops his hand from his nose, inspects the red, and then looks up to see everyone is staring.

 

Alex coughs, and Jay drops his face into his palms, shaking his head. Brian has frozen, hand on Jay’s back, peering fixedly at some point beyond Alex. This is approximately the time Alex and Tim look around, too, straight out the window and into the beast’s waiting maw.

 

_ It’s  _ there, maybe it always was, and they just didn’t know until it wanted them to know.

 

Tim’s the first on his feet, swiping furiously at his still-bleeding nose. Alex is next, and both the coffee and box go tumbling to the floor with his abrupt stand. He glances quickly at the cameras, but only ducks to grab the box and shove it into his pocket before joining Tim at the now-open door.

 

“Brian,” Tim calls over the pounding in his ears, and Brian glances up from trying to tug at Jay’s arm. There’s a look exchanged between the two, and Brian sighs and picks up Jay without further hesitation. He’s still as strong as ever, Tim notes, and  _ God  _ if he isn’t thankful for that. 

 

Jay doesn’t even protest, he just cries harder in Brian’s arms, and Tim feels his stomach drop. He can see Jay quivering, and though it’s muffled by the jacket his friend is wearing, Jay is still audible.

 

It sounds like a tornado alert in Tim’s head -- he hears nothing but sirens, and he is not quite able to grasp whether it is the work of the thing or his fear or his  _ fucking  _ schizophrenia or maybe all three in some awful amalgamation, but it’s bad,  _ it’s terrifying _ and he can feel himself slipping into the throes of a panic attack.

 

Everything seems to melt around him as he sprints from the porch, refusing to look behind him in case it’s following him to his car. The keys that have always been on him are in his hand, and the car beeps, and he throws the driver’s door open. He opens the back door after him, sends a quick glance back at the others.

 

“Fuck you!” Brian yells towards the porch, hot on Tim’s feet, and, God, that subtle act of defiance may have killed them, but he can’t help but let out something that’s a cross between a chuckle and a laugh. Brian tosses Jay into the backseat, hops in after him, and shuts the door.

 

Alex’s coughs draw attention to him through the dark. Tim watches from the driver’s seat, wordless, as he clambers into the passenger side of the car. “What the fuck are you waiting for, Tim? Go!”

 

The terror in Alex’s voice brings him back to the cold, harsh reality that is standing on the porch, now turned towards the car, moving slowly, deliberately towards them in a way that is not walking but rather gliding. The blood in Tim’s hand makes it hard for him to start the car, but after a couple turns of the key in the ignition, the old thing starts. He reverses and pushes his foot on the pedal, hard, and rips out of the clearing, onto the path, and away from the cabin.

 

The sirens fade away as they get further from it, but the feeling in his stomach does not.

 

* * *

 

Jay wakes up with a hazy feeling in his head and a vague pressure on his shoulder.

 

Absently, he swats away the hand, starts to mutter, “sorry, Jess, I’ll be up in a--” and then he feels the fabric beneath him and this is  _ not  _ a couch and this is  _ not  _ the comfortable vanilla smell of a lived-in apartment.

 

Jay bolts upright as fast as he can, blinking his eyes open to peer at the car around him. Alex is seated beside him, staring back at Jay from behind his glasses with a kind of fearful defensiveness, and Tim and Brian are in the front seat, exchanging quiet words over the middle console.

 

He sees them and the situation registers with an alarming alacrity, and he immediately reaches for the car handle behind him, barely aware of his own actions. This is the point when Tim looks back, quirks an eyebrow, says, “You going somewhere?”

 

Jay bites back the first easy retort that occurs to him, just tugs open the car door and steps ( _ stumbles _ , he thinks, is a better word) out.

 

He shuts it behind him and starts walking, only partially noticing the fact that it’s more than likely just before midnight and they’re at a gas station. Jay starts for the road, feels inside his pocket for his phone.

 

“Fuck,” Jay mutters, turns on his heel and heads back to the car. Brian has gotten out and is watching Jay’s approach with something like remorse.

 

“I don’t think you should try to ignore it, Jay,” Brian says, and Jay tries to pretend the regret in Brian’s voice isn’t there.

 

“Where’s my phone?” Jay demands, buries his hands in the pockets of his nylon jacket. He thinks he should be worried about his camera but he doesn’t feel present enough to do much of anything right now. There are two things on Jay’s cloudy mind, really: get his phone and call someone. He’s only dimly aware of who that someone would be, but in this case  _ dimly aware _ has to be enough, because there’s no chance in  _ hell  _ he’s staying here and condemning himself to another four years of  _ pure bullshit _ .

 

“Jay,” Brian tries again, and there’s the sound of the passenger car door opening. “Jay, don’t.”

 

“Where is it?” Jay insists as Tim gets out. They briefly meet eyes and something unspoken happens in that moment, the kind of thing where you barely know it happened until it’s over.

 

And then Tim snorts, breaks eye contact, like he couldn’t have expected anything else from one Jay Merrick, and ducks into the car to grab something from the backseat.

 

He tosses the phone over the car to Jay, who fumbles to catch it. They stand for a minute, Tim and Brian staring at Jay, the former almost angrily and the latter almost pleadingly, while Jay refuses to look up from his phone. “ _ Jay _ ,” Brian tries one last time, voice catching on whatever he wants to say next.

 

Jay wants to say, ‘fuck you.’ He wants to say, ‘have a nice time with this, assholes.’

 

Instead, he turns away, and says nothing at all.

 

And then, Alex, who has been quiet as death, leaning up against a gas pump, pipes up. The anger in his voice is so insurmountably obvious and it surprises everyone. He’d barely spoken the whole ride, just looked out into the darkening sky. He’d been awake, but he was as gone as Jay.

 

“Jay, you asshole, you don’t get it, do you?” He growled, irritation rampant in his voice. “It’s not going to fucking end if you ignore it! You ask that goddamn jackass right there--” He gestured to Tim forcefully, “It’s not fucking  _ over  _ because you decide you don’t wanna deal with it, okay?”

 

“I don’t wanna hear this from you, you tried to fucking kill m--”

 

“Yeah! And maybe that would’ve been better, Jay! Because we’re stuck like this until we die! I don’t know how hard it’s gonna be to get that through your head, but Tim gets it, I get it, even Mr. Jock over there gets it!”

 

“Hey!” Brian objects, “I’m good at science!”

 

“Shut up, Brian!” Alex and Jay snap in unison. 

 

“Look, Alex, I don’t  _ care _ , okay? You can-- you can cuss me out all you want but I’m still leaving!” 

 

“Jay. Please. We’re not - last time we all tried to fight this apart…” Alex trails off, the anger in his voice making room for something else, something Jay can’t quite put a name to. 

 

“I hate to agree with Alex, Jay, but like it or not, we need each other.” Brian pipes in, and this time no one shushes him.

 

Jay stares at them for a little bit. There’s a divide between them. The car, their vessel, their… he hates that the word crosses the mind, but their ark, idles. There is a choice here, that is being presented. He’s not sure what to do. He knows it’s started again - the damage is already done, but maybe it’ll go away if he’s lucky.

 

Then he remembers he is not lucky.

 

He isn’t lucky. Jay Merrick thinks he was born the opposite, born into a world of broken mirrors and black cats and insistent thirteens, and maybe that’s why the next thing to come out of his mouth isn’t staunch denial. “Alright, fine.”

 

And so it is alright, it is fine.

 

He goes back to the car, opens the door to get in before anyone else even makes a move. The three of them are frozen for a moment, as though this was unexpected, and maybe it was; maybe the truth is they’d expected him to walk away. But Jay doesn’t, so Alex ducks back into the car, and so does Tim, and then Brian, grinning unconsciously as he settles his hands on the wheel.

 

“Next stop, motel,” Brian tells them with a false kind of cheer, and Tim averts his gaze to the window. Alex merely stares at the headrest in front of him and Jay finally looks back down at his phone.

 

He briefly considers firing off a quick text, but then the car is firing off through the parking lot and onto the road instead, and Jay merely drops the phone into his pocket.

 

This isn’t alright, isn’t fine, isn’t okay but maybe it can feel that way for a little while.

 

* * *

 

Brian has always looked cute when he is driving. Even back in high school, with his fair share of awkward braces and bad jokes, he has never been not adorable that focused. Maybe that’s why Tim gave up his driver’s seat so easy. Or maybe it was just that he was tired. He didn’t quite know himself.

 

Lucky for Tim, he’s able to watch Brian without suspicion, because he’s just so intent on looking on the open road. He’d missed Brian. This circumstances sucked, but he’s secretly almost glad to have Brian and Jay and  _ maybe _ , just maybe, even Alex back.

 

That is, until the car stops and Brian looks at him and he looks away. 

 

“Alright folks, we’re here.” Brian sayslightly, a false smile gracing his face. “Who wants to book our rooms? It’s probably-”

 

“It’s ten a night here.” Tim cuts in, opening the car’s glove compartment and pulling out a small wad of bills. “So we’ll need twenty. Who’s sharing?”

 

“How did you-” Brian asks.

 

“We slept here once.” Jay mutters. “Are you sure it’s safe? What if--”

 

“It’s fine, Jay. It’s not like we’re staying more than a night here.”

 

So, they all step out of the car, Tim locks it and walks around to the trunk and pulls out two duffel bags. He’s always had these, and keeps them all around the house, and, of course, in his car. It’s his safety thing.

 

“BOB?” Alex asks lightly, slinging his army backpack over one arm. 

 

“Yeah, consider yourself lucky I always have them in the car. You should be thanking me.”

 

“I have one in my car too.” Alex says. “But I don’t think we should uh. Go back.”

 

“No fuckin’ way am I going back there.” Brian interjects, and everyone seems to agree with him, because the conversation is dropped.

 

Tim leads the way to the motel’s lobby. They all file into the small space. It’s relatively clean. There’s a few small tables near the window, with old, beat up chairs. A counter towards the back has a coffee maker, which Alex starts silently towards.

 

“Hi,” Tim starts. The lady working the front desk looks up, brushing her hair out of her eye and pushing up her glasses. It’s the same girl that they saw last time, in some weird twist of fate. She looks relatively tired. Tim wishes that he was her, for a moment, and that they were someone else. 

 

“Hey, Jake. How can I help ya?” Oh. Right. Name he gave her.

 

“Yeah, um, me and Nick and the boys need a couple of rooms.”

 

“Oh hon, I’m sorry. We only have one open, but it’s a double bed. I can give y’all extra pillows or something?”

 

“Uh, that’s fine. Yeah. Thanks.”

 

Alex lets out an annoyed sigh. “Not like I was sleeping anyway. Is this complementary?” 

 

“Yes dear! Take as much as you need, you folks look like you need it.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Potassium!”

 

“Shut up, Brian.”

 

They make their way to their room, Tim holding the key firmly. Jay and Brian each have their own duffle bag, and Alex holds the coffee in his hand as if for dear life. The door swings open with a creak (it’s a cheap motel, but the people who run it are genuine) and they step inside. 

 

“Uh, who’s sharing beds?” Jay asks lightly. 

 

“I said it before. I’m not sleeping.” Alex walks into the room. “Takin’ a shower. Don’t bother me.” He sets the coffee down on the desk, closes the bathroom door, and he’s gone for probably the whole night. 

 

“Well, I guess I’ll take the couch then.” Brian says mildly. 

 

Tim doesn’t quite know why he says it, but the words come out so fast he can’t stop them. “No, uh, Bri, you can share with me, I don’t mind.” Damnit! Damnit. Why did he say that? He always slept on the floor and Brian deserved his own bed and - 

 

“Potassium, Tim. Thanks.” There’s the slightest hint of a smile Tim hasn’t seen in a long time, and his heart does a weird thing. He didn’t like Brian as anything more than a friend, but the guy was adorable sometimes.

 

Jay lays down on the other bed, not even bothering to take off his jacket. He pulls the cover over his head. “Lock the door, okay, Tim?” He requests softly, all hints of defiance from earlier gone. It was a constant request with the both of them. They didn’t leave the door unlocked, no matter what.

 

“Already done.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

He’s tired. He won’t sleep, but he too lays down on the bed, and Brian lays down beside him. Tim makes a move to put a pillow between the two of them, but Brian shakes his head. “It’s cool, man. Just like our sleepovers.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Things are okay, in that moment.


End file.
